


Bad Things

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [14]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie Worries, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate Flirting, Luca is a tosser, M/M, Season/Series 01/02, Sexual Harassment, Tommy is very pretty, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, wtma AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: Tommy is in London with Alfie, and has a rather unfortunate encounter when alone in a pub. This leaves Alfie with some concerns, and Tommy attempts to ease his mind.





	Bad Things

**Author's Note:**

> For following request from tumblr: "Totally throwing this out, but how about someone flirts with Tommy (maybe like a potential business partner or someone in a bar idk) and Alfie hears about it. He’s not a jealous guy but Tommy’s pretty af and he’s scared that Tommy might leave him. Hurt/ comfort and fluff between those two :D" 
> 
> Set as usual in my AU (in season 01/02), so Changretta has a completely different role than in canon. But I needed to write him as a complete asshole. Therefore, I dragged him into this mess too.

Alfie is still in his office when Tommy arrives in London, and after pushing him up against a wall and kissing him until he’s all hot and bothered, he states that there’s some paperwork he’s got to finish up before they go home. Tommy is rather displeased with this: he’s been in a car all day and it’s been a long fucking week in an empty bed, and he wants to get laid. Right now, preferably. Alfie isn’t usually the one to say no.  

“Why don’t you go experience the culture for an hour or two, love?” Alfie says and leans against the desk, picking up a wad of papers that he examines with great interest. “Could be a nice change for you. Did you know we have actual buildings here? With several floors?”  

“Are you punishing me for something?” Tommy says. Alfie just laughs at him.  

“Go. Have a drink. I own a decent pub just down the road.” He looks down at his papers again, adjusting the glasses on his nose. A smile twitches at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “The barkeep will know who you are.”  

“How’s that?” Tommy cocks his head a little to the side.  

“Well, your name may have come up in conversation.” Alfie looks up from the work. “Fuck, don’t look at me that way. It’s been a whole week. I know you’d prefer to get fucked in my bed and not on the desk, but if you keep that up I might just have to.” He puts the papers down and pulls him close again.

 “So?”

“Hmm?”  

“The barkeep.”  

“How many men like you do you think walks into his pub?” Alfie says. “If I’ve been down there, talking about your blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut a fucking diamond, don’t you think he’ll make the connection when you show up?”      

“Oh really, you’re talking about me?” Tommy smiles. “Only good things I hope?”  

“Of course not, you’re a terrible person,” Alfie leans down and kisses him, slips his hands down his back. “But so am I. Now run off. I’ll be there in a bit. Then, I promise we’ll go home and I’ll take good care of you.”

...

The barkeep does notice him when he walks in. It’s a rather shoddy pub. Looks a bit like the Garrison –they tend to all do that. At least in these areas. Makes Tommy feel rather at home.

“Thomas Shelby, I presume?” the man behind the bar asks as he walks up and puts his cap down on it.

“Now, how did you know that?” Tommy sits down.

“Just a hunch,” the barkeep says.

“Drink on the house?”

“Whiskey.”

“Oh really. No rum? Does Mr. Solomons know ‘bout that?”

“Think he’s made his peace with it,” Tommy says and accepts the glass. It’s rather nice to be in a place where no one knows his name. Except for the barkeep then. But other than him, no one here knows who he is. He gets a few looks none the less, as newcomers always do in places like this he supposes. And yeah, he rather enjoys the anonymity. Allows for him to be properly alone with his thoughts. 

...

He’s on his second whiskey when there is a sudden change of atmosphere in the pub. Conversations sink to a mutter, and the air becomes almost electric. The way it does when someone dangerous enters a room. He knows the signs very well.  

He doesn’t look up.

A tall figure comes up to stand next to him.

“You know you lot aren’t welcome in this pub,” the barkeep says rather quietly to the newcomer, though his words are without much conviction. He looks rather terrified. “Or in this part of town, for that matter.” Interesting.

“Oh, I’m only in town for a short while. I’m sure you can make an exception.” Italian. Definitely. “And I do have some business here I need to take care of.”

The barkeep’s eyes dart around the room at the other patrons. Tommy assumes he is considering the consequences of whatever decision he’ll make. He sees the newcomer out of corner of his eye, though can only make out a hat and the tip of a hooked nose from this angle. And an expensive looking suit. A man who is used to getting what he wants.

”One drink,” the barkeep mutters, though it’s probably just to emulate any semblance of control. The man lets out a low, hoarse chuckle and sits down next to Tommy. Tommy takes note of this, but keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the opposite wall. He takes out a cigarette, puts it between his lips, but as he reaches for the lighter he suddenly finds that it has been lit for him. As the man at his side lowers the hand holding the lighter, and Tommy spots the tattoo. Not even one fucking night of peace, huh?

“So, Thomas Shelby,” the man says. “I see that the rumours about you were true. You are a sight for sore eyes, as they say here.”

Tommy resists the urge to roll his eyes. He turns to the man and puts on his most disinterest face, looking him up and down to assess the situation. The man is handsome, he muses, if you like the combination of slick and polished with the look ‘I will murder your entire family and smile while doing it’. Even when sitting down, he is ridiculously tall. Had the circumstances and time been different, say a year or so ago, Tommy definitely could’ve considered giving him some of his time. Though that toothpick between his lips may have been a deal breaker even then.  

He is being scrutinized too, he realizes, but with a very different gaze. He doesn’t like it.

“Do we know each other?” he says calmly, takes a drag on the cigarette.

“No, I shouldn’t think so. I’m not from around.”

“Well, neither am I.” The man smiles, just a faint twitch of his lip, and it’s a very unnerving sight.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself.” The hat comes off and the stranger extends a long-fingered hand that Tommy shakes without moving so much as a muscle in his face. “Luca Changretta.”

“Thomas Shelby,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “But you already know that, it would seem.”

Changretta –as the man is apparently called- lets go of his hand and takes a sip of the wine that has been put in front of him by the rather rattled barkeep. Tommy doesn’t trust people who drink wine. _Changretta… hasn’t he heard that name before?_

“Oh, I know quite a bit about you, Thomas,” Changretta says, and the use of his first name by this man really irks Tommy. “I know that you are a small-time gangster from Birmingham. Bookmaker. That you’ve got this little band of brutes called the Peaky Blinders.” He glances at the cap on the bar disk. “I also know that you come from absolutely nothing and had to fight tooth and nail to acquire what little status you have now. But none of that actually interests me.”

“So, Mr. Changretta.” Tommy breathes in another lungful of smoke. He ignores the condescending tone. Or, does at least not show that it bothers him. “Since I’m so… insignificant, how come you know these things about me?”

Changretta leans in. “Because I have business with Mr. Sabini. And therefore, by default, Mr. Solomons. So I know a thing or two about your, let us say, business arrangement with him.”

Tommy taps the ashes from his cigarette. “Is that so?”

“I must say, I’m rather impressed. You don’t have much in the world, clearly. But you do have your good looks. I can respect a man who knows how to use his assets. Whatever they may be,” Luca says. “I have money. Power. A well-structured organisation. You, well you have your pretty face. And that was all you needed to end up with half of London in your hand. Rather impressive.”

Tommy smiles. “You know, Mr. Changretta,” he says and leans in just a little bit. “I can see that your lips are moving, but I can’t really focus on what you’re saying. Because all I’m thinking about is that fucking ridiculous toothpick in your mouth.”

Changretta simply laughs. “Beautiful and with a sense of humour. I can see why Mr. Solomons is so fond of you.” He looks Tommy straight in the eye. “And you also seem to share the trait of having no sense of self-preservation.”

“Though I have to ask, isn’t he a bit… brutish, for you?” Changretta continues. “Then again, I suppose I could see the appeal he’d have to you. What with your background, and your father walking out. I’ve heard things like that can be very jarring for a child. So much so that they spend their entire adult life searching for some sort of replacement. Is it the beard that does it for you?”

Right. Tommy is beginning to get rather tired of this man.

“See, when I look at you, I envision you with someone more… elegant. Put together. With real power. And not just over this sorry excuse for a city.”

'“Oh really? Thank you for showing such concern about my taste in men.” Tommy says. But sarcasm is lost on this man. Or just ignored. Probably the latter.  

“If you wanted to… move up a bit in the world-” Changretta places a hand on his knee. “I assure you I’d make it worth your while. With a face like yours, you could even be on your back. So that I can look into those pretty eyes when I take you.” The hand moves upward just a bit. “And, not that I’ll be staying in this place for long, but I do have connections here. With better things to offer than the Jews. I’m sure we could make some sort of arrangement.”

Tommy runs through a few options in his mind. He could always smash his glass over Changretta’s head. Cut his face open. But quite honestly, he’d rather not have his first visit to Alfie’s pub end in a brawl. This man isn’t worth it. Despite the humiliation of be spoken to this way. If there is one thing he’s learned it is that when people call you names, underestimate you, you own it. Throw it back at them. He turns to face the Italian fully, staring at him with cold, unwavering eyes.

“I wonder, Mr. Changretta, when you fuck me, will you take that thing out of your mouth?” he asks flatly. “Or will I end up with splinters?”

For just a fraction of a second, something flashes by in the dark eyes. Anger perhaps. Frustration, at the very least. And although it’s gone just as fast, it’s rather satisfying.

“You English with your crude language,” Changretta scoffs. “Is that what Solomons calls what he does to you? Does he like to have you in that dingy office of his, hmm? Bent over the desk?” The hand on his thigh doesn’t move. As if Changretta wants to demonstrate just how much self-control he can practice. Here but no further. “I assure you, that letting me bed you would be something quite different. I’d make it good for you. I’m a very generous lover.”

Tommy resists the urge to recoil when Changretta caresses his thigh with his thumb, but his nails dig into his palm. He should leave. But somehow, that would feel like losing, admitting that Changretta is getting to him. He knows this game. Though it crosses his mind that perhaps he’s out of his league with this one.

“Pray tell, why are you so determined to have me in your bed?”

“Oh, there are so many reasons now, aren’t there?” Changretta muses. Takes a sip of wine. “But first and foremost, I’m a romantic. I like the beautiful things in life. And you are a thing of beauty.” He leans in a little bit more, pins Tommy with his eyes. Tommy's gaze doesn’t waver. “And I’m very curious if those lips feel every bit as good as they look. How about it, sweetheart?”  

Tommy is rather sure the Italian is just talking shit at this point. But he’s had enough. To hell with it, Changretta can have this round. He’s not sitting here for another second listening to this. One last move before he leaves though. If Changretta considers him some sort of floozy he might as well play it up. He puts on a soft smile, looks up at him through his eyelashes. Changretta smirks. Finally, a reaction.

“Well, Mr. Changretta, when you put it like that-” Tommy leans in close enough to whisper in his ear, puts a hand at the side of his neck. Then, with as much spite as he can possibly muster, he adds, “I would rather gouge my  _fucking_  eyes out.”

Then he pulls away, grabs his cap and gets off the chair, heading for the door.

And finds Alfie standing just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Well. Shit.

For a moment, his heart drops in his chest. But Alfie gives him this look, and when he passes him he stops just briefly, puts a hand on his upper arm. He knows.

“You okay?” he mutters. 

“Fine,” he answers just as quietly. Alfie gives short nod. Moves on.

“Peters, looks like we’ve got vermin,” he says to the barkeep and saunters up slowly to the bar. “Got to be more rigorous with those traps you put out, yeah? Starts off with just one, you know, and soon the whole place is infested.” Changretta doesn’t look up from his wineglass. But that aggravating smile is back.

“Mr. Solomons. Here to collect your pet, I see. Shame. We were getting along so well.”

“Get out of my fucking pub, mate,” Alfie says. Calm as ever. “Or I’ll have to blow your fucking head off. All these nice people will end up with pieces of your brain all over’em. Bad for business, that.”

Luca finishes his drink. Stands up. He is just a bit taller than Alfie. But Alfie somehow seems twice as large. The two men stare each other down.

The pub has gone dead silent. One, two, three seconds pass. Longest seconds anyone in the room has ever experienced, Tommy is sure. Then Luca Changretta grabs his hat. Gives Alfie a nod, and then makes his way to the door.

“A pleasure meeting you, Thomas,” he says as he passes him. "I'm sure we'll see more of each other in the future." Tommy has never wanted to shoot someone more in his entire life. And that’s saying something.

...

“So, the Italian. What did he say?” Alfie asks once they’re out in the cool night air, walking toward his townhouse through the fog.

“That shit could fill a book. Tommy groans and runs a hand over his face. “A bloody awful book.”  

“But he made a pass at you?”

“If you consider long condescending speeches and smirking ‘make a pass at’.”

“Think it’s his idea of it.” Alfie lets out a dry laugh. He is quiet for a while before giving Tommy a quick glance. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Tommy scoffs. “First of all, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

Alfie mutters something indistinct that he ignores. 

“And second, we were in a pub full of people. He’s all talk.”  

“I’m bloody serious, Tommy.” Alfie snaps. “He’s a fucking tosser yeah, but that bloke is capable of some shit you can’t even imagine.”

Tommy is pretty sure that he can. But he leaves it be. Just takes one of Alfie’s arm and puts it over his shoulders. Alfie pulls him closer. They’re silent the rest of the way home.

...

When they get inside and Alfie doesn’t immediately push him up against the nearest wall, but instead just hangs up his coat and hat, before stalking off into the kitchen, Tommy realizes he’ll have to do something about the situation, if this night is ever going to turn around. He goes after him.

“Alright, what is wrong?” he asks and leans against the kitchen counter. Alfie is making tea. Always tea with him.  

“Oh, nothing sweetie.” Alfie mutters and takes out a pot.  

“Remember that I’m the good liar out of the two of us. You're never this quiet,” Tommy sighs. “Spit it out. I’ve just spent the longest half hour of my life, with the worst man I’ve ever met. And I need to get laid.” Alfie says nothing for a while yet, just continues tinkering with the dishware before he finally speaks up.

“Well, about Changretta…” he trails off before he finishes the sentence and Tommy frowns.  

“You know I’d never actually-“

Alfie cuts him off, “Of course, no, I’d never blame you for what happened back there. He’s a fucking wanker. Forcing himself on people in my bloody pub. The fucking nerve.”

“So, what’s the problem then?”

Alfie sits down in a chair, wringing a cracking sound from his back. He puts his cane to the side.

“It’s that shit like this happen with you. And it’ll continue happen, again and again, yeah? And sometimes I think that in a few years, maybe you’ll be sick enough of me to say yes.”

Tommy doesn’t comment on the long-term implications of this statement. “What are you talking about?”

“Tommy, sweetheart, have you ever looked in a fucking mirror?” Alfie gives him this strange little smile. “Have you seen… you? Or the way people look at you?” 

“With a hint of panic?”

“Don’t fuck around. I mean Changretta. And all these other men you don’t even seem to notice ‘cause you’re too caught up in your own head.” Alfie sighs again. “I don’t fucking know. I’ve never been the jealous type, right, but there's just something...  It’s like my brain has stopped fucking working properly, yeah? And I look at you and think that sure, maybe Changretta is more the sort of bloke you should be with.”

“What? A fucking wanker?” 

"Suave. Well dressed and all that.”    

“Why are you saying this?” Tommy knows he could get angry. Ask if Alfie really thinks that little of him. But he’s tired, and wants to go to bed, and yeah, maybe he would like Alfie to be there with him. Not sit down here in the kitchen moping.

“Because you’re so pretty that you fucking hurt to look at,” Alfie states. 

Tommy walks up to him then. Sits down in his lap with one leg on either side. Takes his face between his hands. Alfie raises his eyebrows in a look of mild surprise, because this is a position Tommy usually only takes willingly in the bedroom. But he’s decided to indulge him.  

“Alfie Solomons now you listen to me,” he says, gathers himself. “I don’t say this nearly enough. Because I don’t want to inflate your already massive ego. But you are the most handsome man I’ve ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on-“ Alfie opens his mouth but Tommy shushes him. “No you shut up, for once in your fucking life. As insane as it sounds, I only have eyes for you, alright? And I want you exactly the way you are: rolled up shirtsleeves, unkempt beard, insane ramblings and all.”

“You could have any fucking man in the world, you know that right?” Alfie says and runs a hand up his neck. Caresses his jawline with his thumb. “Why are you with a git with a bad back in London?”

Tommy sighs. “Have you been on the gin? Why are you being like this?”

“Maybe I’m just realising I’m the one out of my league here.”

Baring his soul isn’t exactly Tommy’s thing, and he can’t even blame the whiskey for his. But to hell with everything. He’s had a gun to his head more times than he can count, he can deal with this too. He’s got a feeling Alfie needs it right now. For whatever reason he seems to be in some sort of mood.

“How many people do you think I’ve slept with?” he asks curtly.

“This ain't helping.” Alfie states.

“I have a point. I’ll get to it,” Tommy says. “Doesn’t really matter exactly how many, but it’s quite a few.”

“Definitely not helping.”

“Shut up. How many of those do you think I spent an entire night with? How many did I fall asleep next to?” Tommy shifts closer, until he’s flush against Alfie’s body. Looks down at him –a privilege he rarely has. “How many did I want to have breakfast with the morning after?” He wraps his arms around Alfie’s neck, running his fingers through his hair. “And how many-“ He leans down and kisses him. “-do you think I wanted to spend the next night with too?”

Alfie’s arms find their way around his waist, holding him close. 

“I’ll give you a clue: it’s just one. And I would very much like him to come to bed with me now, instead of moping in the fucking kitchen,” Tommy finishes and sits back, looking demandingly at the other man.

“Yeah, you’re right. This has already made me big-headed,” Alfie says. Laughs. “Got a feeling you’ll regret this. I’ll be fucking insufferable. Also, I think that’s the most you’ve expressed about your own feelings at once.”

Tommy kisses him again, and feels the arms around him tighten their grip. Desire blossoms at the pit of his stomach, and he forgets that he should feel uncomfortable with all this talking.

“Don’t remind me. And you’ll have to live on it for a while, I can’t give speeches like that every day,” he mutters against his lips. Alfie chuckles.

“No need to. Hearing you moan my name in bed is more than enough to feed my ego.”

“Well then, Mr. Solomons. Maybe I can indulge you a few more times tonight.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“If I know you right, probably something awful.”


End file.
